An Essay Written on an Airplane
9 hours out of time and space
There’s something magical about being in the sky. Flying miles above the ground. My eyes are wandering on the clouds. Small irregular white cotton balls, reflecting in the sea below. The deep blue sea, seeming so calm and smooth from my seat.
The noise of the reactors is deafening. Continuous for 9 hours. Tiring. In a way, the…